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THIRTY-FIVE
DARK CREATURES
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
12 FEBRUARY 1889
It seemed a terrible contrast to be so cozy and snug while reading about missing women who were probably dead. I stared down at my notes, nearly going cross-eyed trying to find a substantial clue that might link our case to Noah’s. The missing women were of ages ranging from nineteen to thirty. Hair color and build varied as much as their backgrounds. The only connection they seemed to share was that they all up and vanished one day, never to be heard from again.
I hadn’t realized I’d pressed my nib so hard until ink splattered across the page. I glanced up sheepishly, but Thomas seemed more worried than amused. Honestly, I was growing more worried with each passing hour, too.
Purplish black shadows under my eyes gave away how little I’d been sleeping. Though I was exhausted each night, my mind never ceased. It was a constant wheel of tension. Nathaniel. Jack the Ripper. Miss Whitehall. His Grace, Lord Cresswell. Missing women. Thomas. Uncle. Each person brought on their own set of worries until I was sitting up in bed, gasping for breath.
“I believe we ought to set this aside for tomorrow,” Thomas said, his attention still fixed on my face. Knowing him, he probably read each of my thoughts before I even had them. “It’s getting late, and while you may not require beauty’s rest, I like to keep myself as pretty as possible.”
I nearly snorted. Sleep. As if I could tumble blissfully into the arms of rest when my world was utter chaos. I flipped to the next page of my brother’s journal and hesitated. It was the only page that had been folded over on itself—almost as if it were hiding.
Or marking the spot for someone to easily find.
“Audrey Rose?”
“Hmm?” I glanced up briefly, turning my attention straight back to the journal. A note scrawled in my brother’s hand stared back at me. It almost read like a poem, though it was only the same sentence written on different lines in different intervals.
A burning sensation gnawed at the pit of my stomach.
I am guilty
of many sins, though
murder is
not one of them.
I am guilty of many sins,
though murder is not one of them.
I am guilty of many sins, though murder is not one of them.
If this were true… I closed my eyes against the sudden feeling of the ceiling dropping down. I breathed in slowly and let it out. If I didn’t calm myself now, I’d experience those waking terrors again. But if Nathaniel was being honest…
“I said I’m turning in for the evening, Wadsworth. Would you care to join me?”
“Mmmh.” I tapped the end of my pen against the table; it was strange for my brother to have so many articles about missing women if he didn’t harm them. I still didn’t understand his role in this mess, but by his own hand, he hadn’t murdered anyone. Whether or not he could be believed was another story altogether. It might simply be another well-constructed mask he’d created to disguise who he truly was.
“I’ve decided to farm spiders. I think training them to dance to show tunes will bring in a hefty sum. It may also cure me of my phobia. Unless you think dancing roosters are better.”
I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, half listening to Thomas and half staring at the confession. The more I uncovered, the less I knew anything for certain.
“Once, I hung naked upside down from the rafters, pretending to be a bat. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Mm-hm?”
“Wadsworth. I have a confession to make. It’s something I ought to have mentioned sooner. I am shamelessly addicted to reading romance novels. I may even shed a tear or two at their conclusion. What can I say? I’m a fool for a happy ending.”
“I know.” I pulled my attention from the journal and fought a smile. “Liza told me.”
